Cries of a Lonely Raven
by Manic-Catastrophe
Summary: After Neville Longbottom's defeat of Voldemort in the graveyard, Hogwarts' staff becomes far more active in their efforts to help their students. One student has slipped through the cracks for four whole years. Featuring a Ravenclaw Harry with a Hufflepuff work ethic, a rule-loving Hermione, and a clueless Hogwarts population, Harry's life might finally take a turn for the better.
1. Pieces Of A Long-Forgotten Puzzle

_Maybe this year will be different._ Harry thought as he crept onto the Hogwarts Express. The platform was completely empty, as it was not even seven o'clock yet. Bent over double and dragging his trunk, he walked the magically expanded cars until he reached the final one. Sitting in the very last compartment (half the size of the others as the car ended with the back wall), he closed and locked the door, heaving a sigh of relief. It was only then that he straightened.

His clothes hung off of him like elephant skin, ragged and grey. _I guess Aunt Petunia finally managed to get me into that Stonewall uniform after all._ Carefully, he stripped and changed into his school robes. His torso was far too thin; each rib was well defined and his stomach concave. Thin white lines marred the skin, some old, more new. Bruises and cuts provided a splash of color on his otherwise sallow skin: red, purple, black, and blue. Glancing down, a bemused smirk took its place. _I look like a bloody garden. _He laughed a single note, harsh and resigned. _Both senses of the word. Bloody… garden._

Finished changing, he looked distastefully at the malodorous vestry he had just removed. _I'll wait for the train to get going, then I'll give 'em a nice _Incendio_. _Satisfied with his plan, the fifteen-year-old stretched out on the bench and closed his eyes. _Maybe… just maybe someone will notice me this year._ Bolstered by this seemingly futile dream, Harry Potter went to sleep with a slightly less wrinkled forehead. He had long since forgotten how to smile; he had never had any reason to know.

* * *

><p>Hermione Granger was a smart girl. It was the thing she prided herself on the most. She was observant and used those observations to help people. In fact, the previous year, she had noticed some strange behavior from a teacher, reported it, and it turned out that their Defense Professor was actually an impostor. Not only so, but it had been he who entered Neville into the Tournament. The Tournament… that was an interesting twist. Due to Neville's incredible heroics and her research he had managed to win the tournament.<p>

Of course, that had come with a horrible shock. It turned out that during the Task, Neville had been abducted and used in an ancient (re. Dark) ritual to resurrect Lord Voldemort. Fortunately, Neville had the presence of mind to activate his emergency locator which led to the immediate downfall of the newly resurrected Lord. He was hailed as a hero and awarded his third Order of Merlin, First Class.

Hermione's assistance and natural rule-following and enforcing tendencies had landed her a spot as the Gryffindor female Prefect. Neville was (obviously) made the male Prefect. So, on September the First, 1995, Hermione made her first patrol as a Prefect. So far, she had been quite successful. She had stopped three different attempts at rule-breaking and confiscated two banned items so far. Now, she was trying to check in on a locked compartment in the very back of the train. Knowing some of the upper years' tendency to get rather rowdy on the train, she simply _had_ to make sure there were no rules being broken behind the door. With a quick "Alohomora", the latch undid itself and she slid open the door.

_And behind door number on is… oh… just a boy. Probably a third year by his height. _The boy in question cracked an eye and sat up. "What?"

Hermione was shocked at the amount of apathy that a single word could carry. "I was just inspecting the compartments. This one was locked, so…" she trailed off under his flat gaze.

"There's no rule about not having compartments locked. Otherwise they wouldn't have locks." He spoke quietly, quickly, and tonelessly, as if afraid of being caught making noise. "I'm obviously not doing anything against the rules in here, so please leave."

_What! How can he talk to me like that!_ "There's no need to be rude!" Hermione snapped.

"No need to come barging in here interrupting my nap," Harry retorted, "But you still did it anyway."

Flushing with anger, both at having her authority questioned and the seeming rudeness of this petulant _boy_, she asserted her authority, "I am a Hogwarts Prefect, and as such I am authorized to inspect any compartments I deem necessary."

Glancing around, the boy questioned "Are you done? No illegal activity or possessions here. Just me, my books, my clothes, and my wand."

_Oh, he's acting suspicious now is he?_ "I'll be the judge of that," she said, stepping into the compartment proper. "Open your trunk," Hermione ordered.

Growling a bit, he complied. "Fine." Hermione stepped up and looked into the surprisingly empty chest. "Just what I said it was. My books," he pointed at a pile of wrinkled, dog-eared books, "my clothes" he gestured at his set of spare robes, "my potions kit, and my wand." He procured said device. "May you leave now?"

_He's obviously hiding something! Why would he have no personal effects at all?_ Fuming with rage, Hermione brandished her wand. "Specialis Revelio," she incanted perfectly. To her utter surprise, the only magic on the trunk was the Gravity Charm, a piece of Aristotelian Physics (Gravity Charm: Bottom = Down. It prevents the contents from scattering)

"Are you done inspecting my property yet? Or are you waiting for it to turn a few cartwheels?" The boy kept his voice flat, but there was an edge of annoyance to it.

Her irrational anger subsiding, she excused herself and resumed patrolling the corridors, embarrassed at her lack of professional behavior.

* * *

><p><em>So much for this year being any different.<em> Harry had been subject to a number of similar inspections. The Prefect would order him to turn out his pockets, hand over his book bag, or submit his trunk for inspection. To their universal bafflement, he had neither anything they could reasonably confiscate, nor anything to bribe them with. They always thought he was hiding his valuables elsewhere, but the truth was that he had no valuable items. He had no novelties, no money, and no family heirlooms (as if he'd want anything from the worthless drunks that had given him birth).

His books were all second-or third-hand, as he used the majority of his scholarship money to buy a set of new robes. Nothing elaborate or even middle-range, but it was good to have something that fit and was new. After ten years at the Dursley's, he was desperate to have a set of fitting clothes. Never mind the fact that he had to settle for old books, aged potions ingredients, and various other low-quality school supplies. Never mind the fact that nobody in Ravenclaw would even give him the time of day due to his lack of books. He had proper clothing, and that alone was the best thing magic had ever done for him.

Since he was a child, he had been told he was the bastard child of a drunkard and a whore who, after getting themselves killed in an accident, had left him to the care of his hard-working relatives. After turning eleven and joining the Wizarding community, the most he had learned about his parents was that he looked and acted like his father, but had his mother's eyes. Professor Snape was particularly fond of taking him down a peg or three, sabotaging his work, insulting him, and even turning a blind eye to his students' efforts to emulate their beloved teacher. If done to any other student, he would have a dozen people cursing him, but, since it was Harry, everyone turned a blind eye (and ear) to Snape's abuse.

Harry was used to it, though. He had no friends to defend him, he never had had friends. Since he was old enough to go to Primary School, either Dudley, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, or a variety of Hogwarts denizens had prevented him from forming relationships with other people. As such, he retreated to the world of literature, reading encyclopedias when he was younger and advanced magical texts at Hogwarts. The Hat had taken longer for him than it had for _Famous Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived._ In fact, McGonagall had been about ready to yank the Hat off his head by the time he was placed. He still remembered it vividly.

_After a long, silent pause, the Hat had finally spoken in his head. "Well, well, well, it's been a long time since I've had a student as difficult as you. Truth be told, you've got no one feature that stands out. Your work ethic was beaten into you, not likely to forget that lesson any time soon. Your mind is repressed, but thirsty for knowledge and capable as any I've seen. You are cunning, but hold little ambition, so Slytherin is not the place for you. Bravery… you have bravery, yes, but it will do you little good as you're willing to sacrifice yourself for nothing. Gryffindor is also out. So, loyalty or intellect? Family or solitude? It is, after all, your choice."_

"_Put me wherever you see fit. It makes the most sense that way."_

"_No… I don't think you'd fit well in Hufflepuff. RAVENCLAW it is then." The Hat was pulled off of his head. As it left, he heard a farewell from the hat, "I am sorry if it doesn't turn out well. Anywhere else would do more harm…"_

Harry snorted in contempt. _It could have been worse, I suppose. Imagine being placed in Snape's gentle care. _The four Houses had their own unique ways or structuring. Gryffindor was the House of a Hero and his hangers-on, united around a single core. Hufflepuff was fairer, due to their unsung value, and was like a close-knit family. Slytherin was pure politics, but there were small cliques of genuine friendship. But Ravenclaw… academia was a contest. Sure, there were cliques, but they only lasted so long as the people in them found each other useful study partners. For the majority, Ravenclaw was a cold, solitary House.

That is not to say that its constituents were all friendless, but their focus was on their studies, and not on their fellows. Harry was alone though. Nobody wanted to associate with the ragged, poor Potter. _Oh well. Three more years, Harry. Three more years and you can finally be free of all this. Free of this backward, stagnant society with their backward, stagnant technology. At least in the Muggle world I'm protected by the law if I get attacked._ Sighing faintly, Harry stood up and re-locked the door.

And then, he pulled out his Transfiguration textbook and read.

The witch with the snack trolley missed his compartment.

Just like she had every year.

No matter, he'd gone days without food before. And candy was poor food anyway.

Not that he'd ever have any. Look what it did to Dudley!

* * *

><p>The Opening Feast was even more rambunctious than ever. After all, Voldemort was gone forever, and people were still giddy from the celebrations that had gone on all summer. Neville was holding court in the middle of Gryffindor table and basked on the glow of his admirers. A festive atmosphere ruled over the feast, yet Harry sat alone, on the very edge of Ravenclaw table. A few dishes sat near him, barely touched. He looked out over the chattering, laughing students and felt an inexplicable surge of jealousy. <em>Why can't I have any of this? Just for one day, why can't I have someone who'll talk to me? Sit next to me? Hell, I repel people just by walking down the damn hall!<em> It was true. People never got within three feet of him. The only human contact he ever had was when Uncle Vernon beat him; Dudley punched him, or those rare occasions when someone brushed up against him in a narrow hallway.

As the feast disappeared, he tuned out Dumbledore's twaddle about how 'The Boy-Who-Lived defeated Voldemort', but an irregular announcement caught his attention.

"Due to the end of the threat of Lord Voldemort, we can now dedicate more resources to you, the students. Part of this is a once-a-week, one-hour meeting with your Head of House. The meeting times will be posted on your message boards in your Common Rooms. These meetings will be used to discuss grades and report any problems within your House."

Harry snorted in amusement. _I can think of one or two problems within your house Flitwick. Yours too, McGonagall._

* * *

><p>When Harry arrived at Ravenclaw tower, he immediately looked at the message board. The meeting schedule was the only thing on it. Looking at the list of 5th Year students, he gave a strangled bark of laughter before climbing up to his dorm room.<p>

His name was not on the list.

* * *

><p>The first week of classes went as well as could be expected. Transfiguration was ramping up the difficulty, but he rarely had difficulty in that class. Charms was a breeze, as all it required was a thorough understanding of what the spell accomplished to perform the magic. Defense seemed to be another joke teacher, some toad-woman hybrid from the Ministry taught it. So far, it seemed like she had little understanding as to how to teach a class.<p>

But then again, she was the only person other than Snape who called him by name, even if it was off of the attendance roster. She still said his name.

He still existed, then.

At times in the last four years, he had wondered whether or not he was a ghost. Or even if he existed at all. Nobody knew his name, nobody talked to him, except if a Prefect decided he looked suspicious. Hell, even his own Head of House didn't seem to know he had six Fifth Year boys. So, he reserved judgment on Madam Umbridge, even if she was a rather unpleasant person.

She had said his name. "Harry Potter". It sounded heavenly to hear his name said by another person.

Potions was an unmitigated disaster. Snape seemed to take extra joy in insulting every fiber of his being, from his unruly hair to his low-quality robes to his low-quality existence. "I only wish your mother could see you now, Potter. I think she'd kill herself to see her son as such a pathetic waste like you." Harry tried to ignore the acerbic man, but after so many years of invective it becomes impossible to tune out. Snape's words stung his soul, as much as he would like to pretend they didn't. The man didn't have to strip him of even the delusion that his _mother_ might have loved him. So, he didn't give Snape what he wanted. He remained silent, completing the potion to the best of his capability.

Snape took one look at it and vanished it.

The potion was nearly perfect. He was given a T.

At dinner, he pushed around a few potatoes on his plate. He wasn't very hungry. Breakfast usually held over until the next day. Being fed twice a week for eight weeks will do that to a guy.

* * *

><p>Hermione's week went well. All of her summer work was perfect, and classes were ramping up the difficulty for OWLs at the end of the year. Prefect duties on top of the increased workload promised to be stressful, but she was going to need to be able to work under stress in the real world. It seemed that the boy she had confronted on the train had a bit of a reputation for… whatever it was that he had been doing. On the first night, a Seventh Year Prefect had told her about the 'trouble students' as she called them.<p>

"All of the Slytherins will give you flak, but only Malfoy and Flint will ever try to disobey you. Hufflepuff has a few miscreants, usually the younger years, and Gryffindor... well you know us. Perfect. Ravenclaw has possibly the worst one of them all." Hermione had a sneaking suspicion of who it was. "No one really knows his name, he's a Fifth Year just like you. Messy black hair, green eyes, pale skin, bad clothes, very short…"

"I think I met him on the train. Are you sure he's in Fifth Year? He looks like a Third Year."

"Yeah, he's in Fifth. I've heard stories about how Prefects will ask to inspect his stuff, but they never see anything but the bare minimum. It's like the kid has no personal belongings."

"I noticed that when I inspected his trunk."

"Wow, already got one point for trunk inspection on the guy. Nice!" It seemed as if inspecting his stuff was a game.

"Anyway… his trunk had everything on the supply list, but not one iota more. I even cast a detection spell, but it came up with just the Gravity Charm."

"Yeah, I know. He must hide his stuff somewhere else."

"Maybe… or it just might be that he doesn't actually _have_ anything."

The Seventh Year snorted, "Yeah, but he acts so… compliant. It's like… even if I didn't have anything to hide, I'd still be embarrassed to do that."

"I'll keep an eye out for any Dark activity coming from him."

"You do that."

And with that, Hermione vowed to make the Ravenclaw boy toe the line.

* * *

><p>As she observed him throughout the week, at meals and in shared classes, she saw a rather interesting pattern. He ate a little bit at breakfast, usually an egg and a plain slice of toast, and then didn't eat until the next day. She thought he'd be sneaking into the kitchens, but asking the elves shot down that idea. He also sat alone, well away from everyone else. Every now and then, she'd see him look around the Great Hall with a look of… something. Never did she see him speak to another person.<p>

In their shared classes, he would perform the required magic, then revise his notes for the rest of the period. Most everyone else used the time to either practice magic from previous years or simply _do_ magic. She never saw him use his wand outside of class. In the halls, he kept to the side, and people unconsciously moved around him. Again, never did she see or hear him interact with other people. It was not an aloofness which separated him from the rest. He, for some reason or another, simply didn't have anyone to talk to. _Interesting. He does what is needed to please the teachers, but he doesn't cast anything for amusement or even want. It's like he doesn't want magic…_

September passed into October and Hermione kept up her watch of the Ravenclaw boy. She had asked around, and not even his dorm mates knew who he was.

"He never talks," Terry Boot remarked to her, "Not even when Snape is at his worst." _Curious. What has he done to invoke the Wrath of Snape? And at his worst? _She shuddered. _I don't envy him._

"So, does he seem… dangerous to you? Like he's about to explode?"

Terry laughed. "Dangerous? Not at all. The guy only shows he's upset after Potions, and even then only if Snape was more vindictive than usual."

"What's his problem with Snape?"

"I dunno. Snape's hated him since First Year. I think his dad and Snape didn't get along too well, as Snape constantly insults him. Weird thing is, he's never said a word to Snape, except in the very first lesson when he didn't know the answer to a question. Since then, I think the only words he says are spells."

Another of the Fifth Year Ravens, Anthony Goldstein, had a bit more to say.

"Oh yeah, Potter?"

"So that's his name?" _Finally, something I can research!_

"That's what Snape calls him. He's the only one who'll say his name."

"What about his Christian name?"

"Never heard it." Anthony shrugged, as if it was beneath him.

"Why does he wear such awful robes?"

"Probably because he's here on scholarship. Interestingly enough, everything he owns is secondhand, except his robes."

"But you can get better quality used robes for cheaper!"

"Maybe the guy likes new clothing? I dunno."

Hermione scratched her head in thought. "So that would explain his lack of… personal items."

"Eh, not entirely. You'd think he'd have something from home, right?"

"Yeah, I would expect that."

"But he's got nothing. Never seen Potter get any letters either. You know, come to think of it," Goldstein mused, "I've asked, and none of the other guys say they've seen him get any Christmas presents either."

"None at all? That's a bit…" Hermione trailed off, disturbed.

"Depressing? Yeah. We tried giving him some candy a few years back. You know what he did?"

"What? Ate it, I suppose." _Obviously._

"No. He returned it."

"Seriously?"

"No kidding. We came in that evening to find the stuff we gave him sitting on our nightstands. Funny thing is, he left a note with each pile."

"Really?"

"Yeah. The note said something like… 'Thanks for the thought, but we both know I'm not worth it.' Didn't sleep well that night."

"How awful!" She was shocked. _Not worth it… and this has been going on for years!_

"Again, no kidding. We hardly ever see him in the dorm. He's up at 5:30 every day."

"How do you know?"

"Woke up early one day, heard his alarm go off. Asked him why the hell he was up so early and he shrugged in an 'I always do this' sort of way."

"That's really early to be up. Breakfast doesn't even start 'til 7."

"And he goes to bed after all of us do. He's burning the candle well past midnight, working on his homework."

"All that time?"

"You should see his essays. When McGonagall says 4 feet, I think he interprets it as 40 feet."

Hermione was slightly jealous. While she was an overachiever, that was far too much, even for her. "No exaggeration here?"

"Not really. I saw one of his Charms essays once, last year."

"Was it all restatements and talking around the question in huge writing?"

"No. He really belongs in Ravenclaw, Potter's brilliant!"

"Really?"

"Yeah. He answered the question in the required space, but then he spent the next twelve feet on the history of the spell, purpose of the wand movements, and potential specializations of it, all in textbook-sized writing."

"What?" Hermione had never thought of doing something like that.

"He knows his theory quite well. He also integrated Runes and Arithmancy into it. Did you know the wand movements are based off of the major lines in runes?"

"Sort of… I remember Professor Babbling mentioned it in an anecdote a while back."

"I wonder why he's not on top of our year, then."

"I just don't think anyone likes to read the whole thing. Their loss, I suppose. And I've seen Snape 'grade' his essays. He just picks it up, looks at the name, and then puts a T on the top."

"That's outrageous!"

"It's Potter's problem and he doesn't raise a stink about it. I say, let him take the initiative."

"But that's disturbing in its own right." Suddenly, all the pieces started to fit together. _Hmm… no personal belongings… excessive overachievement… possible desire for praise… follows instructions to the letter… self-deprecating comments…_ "This merits a talk with Flitwick, I'd say."

And with that, the Great and Beneficent Hermione Granger set off towards Flitwick's office, certain of her discovery.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This is not a 'Wrong Boy-Who-Lived story. Neville is the BWL, and defeated Voldemort in the graveyard. The shock of resurrection and immediate defeat caused Tom's soul to fail. So, Voldemort is dead for good. Harry has spent the last 4 years at Hogwarts almost as a non-person, the Dursley's neglect and abuse making him quite reserved and antisocial. I've got the basic story map planned out already, so I just need to put flesh on the bones of the plot. This is the longest chapter I've ever written, and hopefully they will get longer. Make sure to Enjoy and Review! –Manic-Catastrophe<strong>


	2. Birth Of Discovery Death Of Hope

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: First, I am sorry for the long wait from Chapter 1. I am a Junior in high school and on the swim team, so between those two things I have little free time. I have a few major scenes for this story written and the rest mapped out, I just need time to write it. The updates should pick up briefly in October (Fall Break) and at the beginning of November, when the swim season ends. So, I present Chapter 2 of **_**Cries of a Lonely Raven.**_

"Professor Flitwick?" Hermione asked, knocking on the Charms Professor's office door.

"One moment please!" the diminutive man's voice squeaked out. She waited patiently until the door opened. "Ah, Miss Granger! A pleasure as always."

"Good to see you too, Professor."

"Is there anything in particular you need to discuss?"

"Yes, actually, there is."

Flitwick nodded and sat down at his desk. Taking out a quill and a sheet of parchment, he gestured for her to begin.

"Well, it's about one of your Fifth Years."

"Ah. Did Mr. Boot get caught after curfew again?"

"No, it's not that." Terry Boot had a tendency to roam the hallways at night. "It's about… Potter, I believe his name is."

"Potter?" Flitwick looked mightily confused. "I don't recall teaching a Potter since James."

"How could you not know him? He's a Fifth Year for Merlin's sake!"

Looking troubled, Flitwick searched around in a desk drawer before pulling out a sheet of official-looking parchment. "Hmm… Fifth Year Ravenclaws… I only see five students on this." Flitwick pulled out his wand and cast a series of spells. A sixth name appeared on the parchment. "Harry Potter," Flitwick read. "It seems as if his name was covered up on the list… the concealing spell seems like a First Year spell. I can't believe I never noticed it."

"So a prank in First Year took four years to be found out. That doesn't explain why he never made himself known."

"I take it you have a guess as to why?"

"I talked with some of the Fifth Year Ravenclaws. They say he hardly ever speaks except to do magic, and…" she trailed off, uncomfortable.

"And… what?"

"He has nothing personal. Nothing from his family, nothing. Anthony told me that he never gets any Christmas presents."

"Not even one?"

"He was adamant about that. He also said that when they tried to give him some candy a few years back, he returned it."

"That's… troubling."

Hermione nodded. "I've watched him during meals and shared classes. He eats almost nothing and says even less."

Flitwick's brow furrowed as he thought. "That might just mean he eats in the kitchens then."

"Nope," Hermione said, shaking her head, "I asked the elves if he'd been down there. They said he hadn't ever been there. One of them seemed especially upset about his eating habits."

"Just how much is he eating, then?"

"I've only ever seen him eat a very little bit at breakfast. Usually an egg and a slice of bread."

"What about at other meals?"

"He doesn't eat at all."

"Nothing? I would expect a fifteen-year-old boy to eat _something_. Probably not to the extent that Mr. Weasley does, but still… nothing?"

Hermione nodded glumly. "And he always eats alone. No matter what, he's always sitting at the very edge of the table, at least four seats away from the nearest person."

Flitwick was deeply troubled. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention Miss Granger. I will get this matter resolved as soon as possible."

Satisfied, Hermione stood, thanked Professor Flitwick, and left the room.

* * *

><p>Harry was in the middle of his Transfiguration essay when a paper airplane landed on the library table. He picked it up and noticed on one wing, it had <em>his name on it!<em> Carefully unfolding it, he saw that it was a summons to Professor Flitwick's office.

_Mr. Potter,_ it read,

_Please come to my office when convenient. It has been brought to my attention that I've been neglecting my duties as your Head of House._

_Professor Flitwick_

_Well that's all fine and dandy, except for the fact that I have no idea where his office is!_ Harry thought resignedly, crumpling up the parchment. With a burst of effort, he silently cast an _Incendio _on the wadded-up note. Then, he turned back to his essay. He really had no idea why he made them so long. It wasn't like his efforts would get him a passing grade. _Really, what is it that I'm doing so wrong? I make my essays nearly ten times as long as are required and I still get T's! I'm using Seventh Year material here, but it's never good enough! Am I really so stupid that I can't even write a P worthy essay? Everything I do is not good enough._

He was caught unawares by memories of Dudley forcing him to do his homework, then beating him up for his poor performance on tests. _As if I could do anything about that, Dudley. I can't do your tests for you._ Frustrated, Harry buried his face in his hands, pressing his index fingers into his temples. _I truly don't know why I bother trying so hard. It's not like anyone cares._ A horrible suspicion settled upon him. _What if I'm not actually using advanced texts? What if the stuff I'm using is First Year material? Or even lower? And everyone else's essays are so short because they understand the course material and I don't? But… we use the same books… although mine are far older than anyone else's… maybe standards changed between 1934 and now and my books are a joke. _

Well and truly flustered, Harry shut the library books and returned them to the shelves. After packing up his meager belongings, Harry set out for Ravenclaw tower for the evening. He'd found that while curfew was supposed to include the Common Rooms, it was not enforced, especially in Ravenclaw. He'd spent some very late nights in there, futilely working on his homework. A few times he'd actually stayed up all night working. The days following were difficult, but he had gotten used to constant lethargy during his years in the Dursleys' tender care.

As he walked the empty halls, he continued thinking. _Why should I keep working so hard for nothing? Four years of giving my all and still nothing! That's it. If I can do ten times the amount of work and still fail as miserably as possible, then I might as well not do it at all!_ That idea rebelled against his very nature though. His work ethic was beaten, burned, and starved into him from a very young age. It was woven into the fabric of his personality, and he could not stomach the thought of not giving everything his best effort. _Hell, I still expect Uncle Vernon to come after me with the belt for not cleaning up every room I enter!_

His thoughts carried him up the stairs and through the stone hallways. Portraits, often very friendly to other students, ignored or made subtly hostile comments about him as he walked past. Answering the Eagle's amateurish riddle, he entered the common room to find it empty of all but Fifth and Seventh Years. Taking the table furthest from the fireplace, he once again spread out his essay, already ten feet of parchment long.

_What's the point?_ Picking it up, he crumpled the parchment into a large ball, and then banished it at the fireplace. The orange tongues of flame lovingly licked over the brown material, tasting his offering. The essay went up in flames as Harry stood, watching it. His soul felt like it was encased in razor-sharp ice. _Everything I work for is a failure… so why bother trying? I already have a strip of white in my hair from all the stress back at "home". I'll just end up killing myself with all this work._

And then, Harry Potter did something he had not done once at Hogwarts: He went to bed before one o' clock in the morning.

_At least this year is different from the others._

* * *

><p>Filius Flitwick was not a fool. He had proven that numerous times in school and out of it. His intimate mastery of Charms and a love of dueling had made Hogwarts' smallest student a force to be reckoned with. Outside of school, he had proven his worth on an international stage, winning the Gold Level Dueling Circuit three years in a row and twice in the following five years. Each time he had lost, it was because the two-hour time limit ran out, and per Circuit rules he was defeated. Never in his life since First Year had he been disarmed.<p>

After his stellar performance as a duelist, he returned to his alma mater as a teacher. Albus Dumbledore had convinced him to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. That year saw more students in the Hospital Wing than any seven combined, but the entire student population got O's on their OWLs and NEWTs in the years following. Unfortunately, due to Healer Phena Mora's insistence that "Either he goes or I do", Flitwick was unable to continue. Coincidentally, this sated the curse on the DADA position.

His record was spotless, but now after 50 years of teaching, Filius was confounded by the fact that one of _his_ Ravens had slipped through the cracks. And for _FIVE BLOODY YEARS_ no less! The quarter-goblin in Flitwick was mentally sharpening a terrifying array of torture implements for those who had allowed this, but there was nobody to blame. No one but himself. Oh, yes, there was the slight problem of the First Year Covering Charm on Harry's name, but he should have spotted it right away.

And so, due to his oversight, one of his Fifth Years had been through four years at Hogwarts without any sort of support from his Head of House. Not only that, but from Miss Granger's report, it sounded like he was somewhat depressed: not eating, interacting, or doing much of anything at all. One of the most disturbing things was the fact that he had never received any Christmas presents. Such a small fact had enormous implications, ranging from social anxiety to abuse at home.

_Abuse… that would explain quite a bit. His lack of sociability, the disturbing absence of Christmas presents, not eating… Yes, it does make sense._ He sighed in frustration. _I thought we had taken care of this after Ms. Lovegood's suicide back in December. _Luna had been a decidedly strange Raven, rather spacey, vague, and puzzling, but incredibly intelligent. Her yearmates had taken an immediate dislike to her, and their bullying had gotten so bad in three years that on Christmas Eve, she had written a note and walked off of the Astronomy Tower. The girls in her dorm hadn't even seen the note until New Years' Day, and Flitwick could still remember Xeno's anguished screams as he saw his little girl in a broken heap, surrounded by red snow. He had died a little over three weeks afterward.

That disaster had gotten the Ravenclaw Third Year girls all expelled. Due to their age, they were not sentenced to Azkaban, but their families were fined heavily and all three girls had been placed into magic-suppressing binds for a duration of no less than six years. The suicide had been one of the key factors in convincing Albus to have the Heads take an active role in the management of their Houses.

Honestly, Flitwick sometimes thought that the man had forgotten what it meant to be a teenager. He had vehemently opposed the plan until Professor Sprout had mentioned Luna.

"_If we had known what went on in our Houses, perhaps poor Luna might still be here, Albus." Sprout had stated. Albus stiffened like someone had shoved a red-hot poker up his rear._

"_Ah, yes… I had forgotten about that."_

Frustrated, Flitwick put a Memorandum Charm on his chair, setting it to remind him to get Mr. Potter to speak with him. Yawning, he left his office to get some sleep. Midnight was late enough to ensure that Harry wasn't coming.

* * *

><p>Harry's alarm spell went off at 5 'o clock sharp, just as usual. Stifling a groan, he sat up. He had not slept well. Not completing his work had given his nightmares new ammunition to torture him with. He had seen Uncle Vernon beat him savagely before morphing into Snape, who cursed him to relive all of his previous agony at once before morphing into his best approximation of his mother. His mother (whose name was still a mystery to him), had stared at him with emerald green eyes and spat vile swears at him, blaming him for her death and claiming the only good thing about it was that she no longer had to be around him.<p>

"… _no son of mine… you're no son of mine. You're worthless, that's what you are. Snape is being far too kind to you. If I was alive, I'd disown you before Cruciating your miserable little carcass 'til you beg for me to slit your throat."_

He cancelled the silencing, locking, and alarm charms on his bed curtains before grabbing his robes and heading to the bathroom. Once inside, he stripped down and gave himself a brief once-over in the mirror. All but the worst bruising was gone and his back was almost healed. The scabs would fade into scars, adding a few more lines to the tree bark that was his back. The swelling had long since gone down from his broken ribs, a few days after he set them. Unfortunately, he was unable to brew a pain-killing potion and he didn't know any medical spells, so he did it by hand. Massaging the areas gently, he found that only one of them hurt badly enough to make him shake. The rest were getting nicely healed up. A few more months and he would be good as new. Well, apart from the fact that he could nearly see his spine from the front of his stomach. He just was never hungry. He supposed that his upbringing had that effect on him in that way, just like his work ethic and constant lethargy.

* * *

><p>A child's magic is a delicate thing. A developing magical core requires a large amount of energy. This energy can come from two places: food and ambient energy. Most young wizards and witches grow up eating a lot and playing outside all day. The more potential the young magical has, the longer it takes to fully "charge" their core. Some great wizards of renown, like Merlin, Paracelsus, or Albus Dumbledore, did not fully reach their potential until their mid teen years, when they were surrounded by ambient magic.<p>

First, food. A young wizard (or witch) will generally eat foods with a high fat content. Fat stores an incredible amount of energy, and with a magic-enhanced metabolism, very few magical children ended up chubby (notable exceptions being weak wizards with an appetite bigger than their core). Magically-enhanced intestines digest food more efficiently, allowing more energy gain per meal. Some of the fat is metabolized immediately, converted directly into magic. The rest is stored normally, waiting for the need to be burned. The excess energy generated by burning the fat (a.k.a. heat) is also converted into magical charge; ergo wizards have a lower average body temperature than non-magical folk.

The second source, ambient energy, is best found from sunlight. The high-energy UV rays are a godsend for magical cores. Unfortunately, energy-sucking magical cores and electronics do not mix favorably. The electricity in the wires travels along a current, usually in copper wire. Copper is moderately magic-resistant, enough so to protect its charge from magical cores. The problem is that the magic can sense a reservoir of energy for it to absorb, so it begins working harder to free the electrons. Eventually, it can strip the electricity from the wires, leaving the device inert (Vide endnote 1).

It is impossible to block one's magical core. Well, it is possible, but fatal. All life possesses a magical core; most people simply have one too small to be of use. It is a vital component of a person, allowing them to learn, change, form bonds, and create anew. To block one's access to it is a sentence to a quick, painful death. It would be like putting a balloon into a garbage compressor. The person would just explode from the trapped energy. Certain limits can be placed upon a magical core though. Used on children, they temper the magic's reactions to the child's emotions, making accidental magic a result of strong emotion, not simply whim.

All in all, magical children have happy, bright childhoods.

A child learns about the world through play. Their early experiences shape their reactions and how they view themselves and the world around them. Lessons learned during early childhood are deep-seated, often taking a traumatic event to completely change. _Raise up your child in the way he should go, and he shall not forget when he is old._ Early childhood is indeed the most important part of development.

* * *

><p><strong>FLASHBACK<strong>

_Harry Potter was always lethargic. He never had much energy for anything, but he worked anyway. It was July the thirty-first, and past few weeks, Number 4 had been plagued by letters from an unknown sender. They had first started appearing on Dudley's birthday, and slowly his already miserable existence got even more miserable. He was denied even the basic rights of sleeping on a mattress, bathing, and of course, eating. He was also beaten daily, one lash per letter received._

_Traditionally, the child of magical receiving their Hogwarts letter was a cause for joy. Draco, scion of House Malfoy, was the guest of honor at a formal ball. Ronald Weasley was thrown a party with the entire Weasley clan attending (which numbered upwards of forty). Neville Longbottom was given a number of rare plants for his greenhouses. Although it was already known the children were magical, the confirmation was a long-standing traditional sign for a celebration. The same letter was the cause for so much joy across the country. Muggleborn wizards and witches too were celebrated by their families, though the honor of the situation was not as much as it was for those Wizard-raised._

_So, for the only living remnant of a popular, wealthy, and old (though not as popular, wealthy, or old as some) family to be subjected to such degradation and misery over such a much-anticipated letter would be unthinkable for all. Even though he was not famous, everyone would recognize his name, as his parents had died defending Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived. _

_If the public had known that Harry was punished even worse for accidental magic, even the most Light-oriented families would call for eternal torture under the Cruciatus curse. Accidental magic was expected of magical children. The frequency of it often was related to how powerful the performer was, so whenever it occurred, it was a cause for celebration. There was an entire page of the Daily Prophet dedicated to reports of especially strong outbursts. For the child of two popular, powerful magical folk to be beaten and starved for it was more than unthinkable. There were no laws to protect abusive guardians. Even the Statute of Secrecy did not apply. If they had known what was going on, half the population might have been mistaken for Bellatrix Lestrange. But alas, he was shunted to the side after the Halloween 1981 and placed with, as Albus Dumbledore described, a more than adequate family. The Wizarding World soon forgot about him anyway, as they were besotted with the Boy-Who-Lived._

**END FLASHBACK**

* * *

><p>After indulging in a three-minute, ice-cold shower, he dried and dressed quickly. <em>Hmm, what to do… Homework is out of the question because it's pointless… maybe I could try to catch up to where everyone else is. The library is open. Perhaps some more advanced books will get me on track.<em> He set out for the library, located conveniently close to Ravenclaw Tower. The late October weather caused the castle to be chilly on the inside, and Harry was already cold from his shower. Additionally, his robes were of poor-quality material, so by the time he was at the library, he was shivering and the skin under his fingernails was blue. Luckily, the library was kept at a constant temperature. Madam Pince said that the books didn't like it too warm or too cold. Consequently, the library was warmer than the halls. Harry scanned the shelves for a text near his level. He decided to use some of the books he used to work on his Transfiguration essay for reference material. Looking in their list of sources, he gathered a few of them and began reading.

Due to his extreme antisocial behavior, he had failed to pick up on certain taboos in Wizarding culture. On the list of recommended sources, a large number of those books were considered 'Dark' by most people. At the time, it was quite bad to own anything considered Dark, or just not Light. Harry was reading a fascinating treatise on blood transfiguration. Due to the high mineral content and innate magic of the stuff, some very unique things could be made using blood. It was theorized that Nicholas Flamel had used blood in creating the Philosopher's Stone, and known for a fact that goblin-made items were forged with dragon blood in the metal. But, with the resurrection of Lord Voldemort earlier that year, any type of blood magic was currently anathema.

If an outsider had been watching Harry's every move, they would have noticed a shocking penchant for Dark behavior. He was constantly separate, aloof from his peers, and read highly advanced spellbooks. With a small confirmation bias, it would be easy to consider him the next Dark Lord in the making. Of course, that couldn't be further from the truth. Harry wasn't fond of the Wizarding World at all (in fact he hated it so much that he was going to leave it as soon as possible), and was planning on living as a muggle once finishing Hogwarts. His magic was weak, a result of his miserable childhood, so it wouldn't be much loss at all to leave. He would be able to get a job with a landscaping company, perhaps, as most of his formative years were spent doing just that. As for a family, well… Harry didn't have a good track record with families. Besides, all the girls at Hogwarts were either taken or completely ignored him, so he was out on that front. In the Muggle World, well, what girl would want an emaciated, abused wreck of a person who never had any secondary school? Besides, the poor nutrition would have had effects on him, especially during his teenage years that could cause major problems with any children or grandchildren (Vide endnote 2).

So, it would just be his luck that Hermione Granger, a Prefect specifically watching him for any Dark activity would see him reading an old book on blood magic.

* * *

><p><strong>ENDNOTES<strong>

**1. Magic and Electricity: Magic is sort of like a black hole for free energy. The electricity in most Muggle devices would create sort of a tug-of-war with the magic. The magic would not only try to strip the electricity flowing along the wires, but as the battle gets more intense, it would attract the electrons in the copper atoms themselves to strip the wire. The opposing forces would generally be at a standstill, but when the magical core is agitated it lashes out and could ruin electric devices.**

**2. Malnourishment and Sexual Development: There are records of malnourishment causing all sorts of problems later in life. During the person's adolescent years, however, it can have generation-spanning effects. An old village in Ireland had a church (big surprise there, isn't it?) that for hundreds of years kept detailed records of birth dates, death dates, and causes of death. Researchers noticed a cycle in which a famine during certain years would have noticeable effects in the lifespan of the next two or three generations, cutting their lives 7-10 years short.**

**The opposite case, years with surplus, also had a fascinating effect. The grandchildren of those who developed during surplus years would oftentimes die of what we now know to be Type 1 Diabetes-related symptoms. **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I hope that I can make the next chapters more forthcoming, but I will make no promises. Enjoy and Review!-Manic-Catastrophe**


End file.
